


we die like men

by clairelutra (exosolarmoon)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 16:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10416339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: Four ways Nino and Alya's wedding went wrong, and the one way it went right.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tatemarkhams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatemarkhams/gifts).



> currently un-beta'd (trying to fix that atm, gomen), subject to expansion and cleanup once i have two brain cells to rub together again.
> 
> the prompt was: spring wedding where everything goes wrong at the last minute and everyone is desperately trying to fix everything
> 
> twas much fun, thank you for the prompt! :D
> 
> (gabe is the devil who wears prada, i think. never actually seen the movie, but //shrugs IF THE NAME FITS—)

1\. Flowers

Today was _not_ Marinette's lucky day.

"What do you _mean_ you're allergic to azaleas?!"

"I _mean_ ," Alya wheezed, frantically smearing soothing ointment over the hives that had blossomed on her skin without anyone noticing for the past hour or so, "I'm allergic to azaleas! How do you not know this!? How long have we been friends now?"

"I-I don't know!" Marinette sputtered, gesturing with the bouquet in her off hand. "Eight years! Why didn't you say something when I went to buy the flowers?"

"I thought you _knew!_ " said the bridesmaid (the bride) to a waiter (the maid of honor).

They were standing in the entry of the hall they'd rented for the ceremony, the only room there that didn't contain a truly terrifying number of white roses and red azaleas. The late spring air breezing in through the huge decorative windows giving the room an almost hilariously incongruent atmosphere.

"Well, I didn't," Marinette sighed, dropping her face into her free hand. She gave the bouquet an emphatic little shake. "What do you want me to do with this?"

Alya also sighed, squinting up at the red-and-white altar where she was about to get married through the open doorway. "That's... a lot of flowers to just throw away."

Marinette winced, guilty, and pointed out, "Nothing for it, unless you want to get married on a hospital bed."

Alya still looked... _down,_ and Marinette, feeling even guiltier, struck a pose with an awkwardly bright grin.

"Aw, c'mon Alya, who needs flowers?" she said, swirling the bouquet in little circles, unthinking of the allergens now spreading even further through the air. "I'll pay you back for 'em, pinky-promise. For now—" and she jutted a hip out, striking her best supermodel-Wonder Woman hybrid stance "—we can give them to the guests on the way out. We say 'hasta la vista, baby,' to the monster flowers and toss the wedding bouquets over our shoulders for the lucky singles in the audience. We'll give them the kick in the butt they need to go find love again."

And then, having truly got into her charade, Marinette flung the bouquet over her shoulder.

Alya, who'd been starting to cheer up at her friend's playacting, abruptly went sheet-white, hives and all.

Marinette didn't have to look to ask, "There was someone behind me, wasn't there."

Alya nodded very slowly.

"...On a scale of one to ten...?"

Alya nodded again once in thought, winced, and tilted her head. "...About twenty five?"

Marinette slowly shut her eyes, pain lining every inch of her face as she waited for the drop.

It was even worse than she feared.

It was very distinctly _Gabriel Agreste_ (world-renown fashion designer, her boyfriend's father, her _boss_ ) whose voice that carried into the little entry, dry asperity drenching every word.

"Thank you, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. I will keep your, ah, _wisdom_ in mind," he said mildly, and Marinette turned around just in time to see him pull the bouquet off of his head and dust the shed white petals off his shoulders with a regal flick.

Marinette closed her eyes again, and waited until he'd walked off to say, "I am _so_ fired."

"Yeeeeah," said Alya, slinging an arm around her best friend's shoulders. "...You might be a little bit fired."

Adrien, who'd been trailing in his father's wake, unnoticed in the horror of the moment, sidled up on Marinette's other side. "...Should I go save your job?"

Marinette groaned, pressing her knuckles to her forehead. "...Let me try first."

"Okay." Adrien dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "'Love you."

"'Love you too."

* * *

2\. Food

Marinette's attempts to find her boss and make a formal apology were almost immediately derailed — by about three hundred pounds of little wrapped disks sitting on the first landing of staircase nearest the kitchen.

"What... what _is_ this?"

She _knew_ she should've waited for her parents to be available to help with catering for the reception.

"Mazapan!" said the kitchen helper, unbearably chipper for someone in possession of so much food of unknown origin. He shifted the ten-gallon container on his hip. "Isn't that what you ordered, mademoiselle?"

"I... I ordered _marzipan,_ " she answered weakly, taking in the veritable mountain of small, individually-wrapped packages of what looked to be... _candy_ of some sort. "And why is it on the _staircase?_ "

"That would explain... some things," the boy said, mostly to himself and looking worryingly sheepish. Then he winced and shrugged and said to her, "It's out here because there's no room in the kitchens, mademoiselle."

Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. "Right then. Put the bucket down and help me move the... _mazapan_ to the storage rooms — which is where it _should be, not on the staircase."

He gave her a highly dubious look, and Marinette aimed her best _I can get you fired_ look (one well on its way to 'perfected,' thanks to her internship with M. Agreste) right back at him.

It seemed to earn her some measure of reluctant concession, because the boy rolled his eyes at her and set his burden down on the railing, flouncing off in the direction of the kitchens to... either tattle on her or grab a bag, she couldn't tell.

Well, this was a sticky situation.

A child, one of Alya's cousins, probably, dashed up the stairs, giggling in high glee and knocking an elbow into the bucket as she passed.

Marinette didn't see the bucket tip until it was too late.

As fast as she dove, she wasn't quite fast enough to catch the spillage, and she could only watch in horror as whatever dark red liquid that had been in it spilled over the edge, the sharp, almost sickly sweet scent of maraschino cherries drifting under her nose as the liquid was disturbed.

God, the _stain_ on the _floor_ , she didn't even want to think about it, and what if it _got on someone's clo—_

And then she heard it.

That mildly surprised _tch_ of disgust and annoyance.

That _tch_ she heard every single time she had to deliver a report on the holdings in lower London, every time she had to say that she'd rejected a delivery for substandard quality of materials, every single time—

She dropped to her knees, hiding behind the railing, and wondered if pulling the bucket of sugar and red dye over her head would render her unrecognizable.

No, no, it wouldn't, because it wouldn't hide the stitchwork on her skirt, and she swore M. Agreste could spot individual hand-styles from a mile off.

Basically, she was fucked.

Or, no, the staircase was curved. All she had to do was wait until he came around to find out whose life he was going to end today—

And there were his footsteps.

—and then she would grab the bucket, sprint for the turn—

There was his shoulder, she could see it through the slats of the railing, go, go, _go!_

—set her burden on the stair, and swing herself out the window.

She went.

In the end, the only truly damning evidence was the bright red stain now on her right hand and a matching sugar-syrup handprint on the windowsill. She took stock as she sat, huddled on the floor of the kitchen and trembling, the waitstaff bustling around her shooting her annoyed looks for being underfoot.

There was absolutely no way she could talk to M. Agreste now.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket with clumsy, shaking fingers and typed, left-handed and with only a little bit of shame, _Please save my job_.

 **[minou minou ♥]** _I'll do my best :)_

* * *

3\. Guests

"Wai-wai-wai-wait, you invited _who?_ "

Marinette looked away from where she was crouching behind a flowerpot, hiding from Agreste Senior.

Her partner was wearing his most placating smile as Gabriel ignored him with an air of cat-like dignity that looked rather surprising on a middle-aged man with hair stained hot pink, and Marinette was still mentally tallying up the ways she could repay him for taking on that incredibly uncomfortable conversation for her when she heard the yelp.

"...Kim?" Alya was saying, raising her eyebrows at her soon-to-be husband. "Why?"

Horror trickled through Marinette's system like liquid ice. "...Did you just say you invited _Kim?_ "

Alya huffed in exasperation. " _Yes_ , Kim. What's the big deal? He's just a school friend."

Marinette and Nino traded panicked looks.

"Where's your dad?" said Marinette, who was more used to stepping up in times of crisis.

"...Over by the drinks?" Alya said with raised eyebrows. "Seriously, what's wrong with inviting Kim?"

As one, Nino and Marinette's attention was riveted to the distantly visible refreshment table. There was Alya's father, who'd... made an _attempt_ at dressing for the wedding, if wearing his cleanest and best-pressed safari gear counted as 'dressing up,' and...

Oh dear.

There was Kim.

Kim was already flexing. She couldn't see his face, but the way Alya's father was standing suggested he was about to smash his wine goblet over the athlete's head.

...This wouldn't end well.

* * *

4\. Location

To no one's surprise, it did not end well.

Marinette stared out at the ruins of the once-bright venue and wondered if it would be acceptable to cry, even if it wasn't her wedding. The distant wail of police sirens serenaded her as she plucked a stray mazapan patty, crushed but still wrapped, out of her hair.

Alya's father was now in the hospital, Kim and several others were going to holding cells for public disturbance, Gabriel had stormed off in a fit (doubtlessly to strike her off his roster of employees), and really, Marinette wondered why she hadn't taken the azaleas as a sign.

Alya, the bride herself, slung an arm around Marinette's punch-sticky shoulders.

A moment of silence, and then Alya kissed the side of her friend's face. "C'mon, girl. You did your best."

"I am so sorry," Marinette mumbled, dropping her face into her slimy hands. "Your _wedding_..."

Alya rubbed her shoulder — or tried to; Marinette's skin adhered itself to Alya's palm and made a vaguely duct-tape-ish sound when Alya tried to remove it. "There's always next time."

Adrien, having left his father at some point during the food fight and subsequent akuma attack, leaned against her other side, his suit just as wrecked as her dress. "I... don't think I managed to save your job."

Marinette sighed and passed the cheek-kiss along to him.

The three of them stood in relative peace as an arbor at the back of the room collapsed on the mannequin holding Alya's dress.

After everything that had happened, it felt only fitting.

* * *

+1. Music

In the end, they got married in the mayor's office.

Marinette went home, took a shower, then met up with the happy couple on site and cobbled together a passably dress-like object from a window curtain and a shower curtain in about an hour, doing her best to avoid M. Agreste (whom she suspected was there to file for charges) as she did so.

(She didn't manage to avoid him _all_ the way, and he did fire her the second he laid eyes on her, but that was possibly for the best. He'd had other words for her too.)

Together, the guests brought in a little, out-of-tune standing piano, which Adrien, also freshly showered and now in deliciously tight-fitting jeans, commandeered with great glee.

Her parents arrived late with a store's worth of day-old pastries, Alya's mother with real catering, and the rest of the guests turned up with a bouquet each. Most people were sat on the floor cheerfully enough, with only a small few dragging spinning chairs out of the offices surrounding.

By the time Nino and Mayor André (who was now presiding) were standing at the makeshift altar, the dreary, cramped, industrial space looked downright _festive._

Marinette stood with Alya behind the double doors to the big room, linking arms with her in place of her father as they waited for Adrien to start the wedding march.

Marinette glanced out of the corner of her eye at the bride, worried about cold feet, only to find Alya sporting one of the biggest grins she'd ever seen.

"Excited?"

Alya just grinned wider. "You have _no idea._ "

Glad that the reception failure wasn't getting to her, Marinette squeezed her friend's arm and settled in to wait, chewing over Gabriel's parting worlds as she did so.

When the music finally started to play, it wasn't a wedding march.

No.

It was _All Star._

Alya raised one high-heel-clad foot and kicked the doors open with all her might, dragging Marinette and humming, _some **BODY** once told me the world was gonna roll me,_ as she went.

Marinette could only gape as she was pulled along in her friend's wake.

Adrien caught her eye and winked as she passed, ginning just as widely as the woman getting married, and Marinette didn't know whether she wanted to shake him or kiss him.

The ceremony passed in a blur, two of her closest friends swearing to love one another in sickness and in health with their families looking on while Marinette was stuck in her head.

It was a daze she only snapped out of when she realized something green and white and _large_ was flying at her face.

She swatted it away on pure instinct.

It wasn't until she was blinking at the afterimage and catching Alya's rather exasperated look that she realized she'd just swatted the throwing of the bridal bouquet.

Oops.

She looked at the crowd to see who'd caught it...

...And found her friends and family playing the most ridiculous version of racquetball she'd ever seen.

" _Don't let it hit the ground!_ " she heard someone screech, and then she was left blinking, because she could've _sworn_ that was _Chloe's_ hand that leaped out of the fray to save the bouquet from falling.

Everyone was refusing to catch it and everyone was refusing to let it drop, and Marinette could only stare at the writhing mass of bodies determined to... keep the bouquet as it was?

It bounced and it danced and it traveled and traveled and traveled until finally...

The music, which had switched from Smash Mouth to polka at some point, came to a clattering halt.

The writhing mass of bodies stopped writhing, the individual people spreading themselves out to see who'd _finally_ caught the bouquet.

It was Adrien.

Adrien in his sinful blue jeans and damp, messy hair sitting at the dusty old upright piano, holding a now-mangled wedding bouquet of white roses and looking like he really hadn't expected to come into the possession of _any_ sort of flowers today, much less these.

Marinette swallowed, her pocket starting to burn.

That... was probably her cue, wasn't it.

In the audience, Chloe swatted Sabrina's head. "It was supposed to go the _other_ way, you idiot."

Adrien turned red and scowled at her, hissing, "Chloe!" as the rest of the guests broke into soft laughter.

Well.

It was now or never then, right?

Marinette used the crowd's distraction as cover, slipping past just about everyone, unnoticed, until she arrived behind the piano bench, and the lovely person it held.

She waited for him to notice her.

It didn't take long.

(It never did.)

"Hey, Buginette," he said, flipping through the booklet of sheet music in front of him with a half-casual smile. "Got any requests for your local piano man?"

"I, ah," Marinette stuttered, feeling her face heat as the words stuck in her mouth. "I, um. I do, actually."

He looked up, blinking very, very green eyes at her in sudden curiosity.

"I-I was... I was talking with your dad, and..."

Oh god oh god oh god...

"And I, um."

_Just spit it out!_

"I got his blessing."

Adrien blinked. "His... blessing?"

Marinette fumbled the box out of her jeans pocket and dropped to one knee, hearing the room abruptly go silent behind her and desperately wishing she'd thought this through a bit more.

"To marry you, if you want to." It was an almost sick sort of relief to open the box and find the ring still there — she'd almost started to panic that it wouldn't be there when she needed it. "S-so, um."

She looked up into his face, so soft and so open and slack with shock and just a hint of awe, and it hit her, all at once, that this was probably nowhere _near_ what she'd been expected to do by _anyone_ , and she really probably should have waited or at least thought it through a bit more and oh _god..._

She swallowed her panic down, took a deep breath, and let her hope fill her with a smile.

Then she said, "Will you marry me?"

"— _Yes,_ " Adrien blurted almost before she'd finished her question. A funny look crossed his face, surprise and consternation and then amused sheepishness that was fast swallowed by pure adoration. "Please. I-I mean, I'd love to. I mean—... Shit."

It broke the dam inside Marinette, let all her tension spill out in hiccuping laughter — laughter he soon joined her in — as she pawed at his left hand and slipped the ring onto it, warm warm _warm_ and almost happy enough to really cry, now.

She could barely hear the applause at her back as Adrien tumbled off the piano bench to haul her up and seal his mouth over hers, kissing her clumsily, adoringly through the laughter.

The cheers and wolf whistles when they parted were almost deafening.

"Uh, guys?" Nino called from back next to the altar once the din had died out, highly amused. He held up the piece of lingerie Marinette had helped Alya pick out just last week. "Did anyone want the garter or...?"

Marinette beamed hopefully.

It was only fair, if Adrien had gotten the bouquet, after all, and who knew?

Adrien's fingers tightened in hers, the new, cold band of metal slowly warming under their combined body heat.

It _did_ look like today was her lucky day.


End file.
